


Sympathetic Magic

by cresserelle



Series: Vallnord [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Affection, Character Development, Classroom Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Gaslamp Fantasy, Happy Sex, Historical Fantasy, Humor, Magic School, Magical Sex Toys, Masturbation, Original Universe, Overstimulation, Passion, Playful Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Bathroom, Quiet Sex, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Magic, Slight Steampunk, Sneaking, Tactile Telekinesis, Telepathic Sex, University, risk of getting caught
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28777953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresserelle/pseuds/cresserelle
Summary: Vallnord Academy, the country's most prestigious magic university, holds its students to very high moral standards. They are watched over - out of concern for both their own academic achievement and the Academy's reputation in the high society. Definitely nothing untoward is allowed.But it's incredibly difficult to keep apart two students of magic who really, sincerely want to fuck each other. These are, almost by definition, some very creative people.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Vallnord [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776262
Kudos: 23





	Sympathetic Magic

_The two fundamental laws that govern sympathetic magic are the Law of Similarity and the Law of Contact. Put informally, the Law of Similarity dictates that two objects which resemble each other will remain in a natural magical correspondence; the Law of Contact maintains that things which came in physical contact will continue to act on each other even after that contact had ceased. The most widely practised implication of these laws is that a magician can affect a person by acting on an effigy or a belonging of that person._

_A magician may also project their senses out of their own body, as was the case with Marquess Gera’s famous spying glass eyes._

_Principles of Sympathetic Magic_ , Auring University Press, 7th ed.

* * *

All great ideas seem totally obvious in retrospect. This is why Diane would later wonder why she only got this one so late into the class.

In my opinion, it’s not really surprising. Sympathetic Magic is a demanding course, and effigymaking is its worst part. It requires all of your attention, and keeps your mind from wandering into risky grounds.

Before you try it, it sounds really simple. You put your hand in a box filled with claylike sludge. When it sets you pour mineral resin into this mould, and thus make a cast. As that is congealing, you establish a sympathetic link. It’s a bit like telekinesis – you seek the cast out and feel it with your mind, but instead of trying to shift it, you instead weave your awareness into the thing.

It is, in fact, not simple. It’s a nightmare. It’s a bitch and a half. It requires the precision of an alchemist and the inspiration of a mystic. Even in controlled lab environment, the students’ casts often end up feeling numb, or barely responsive at all – most are grateful to just get a passing grade. And to think that on the old days, all those woods witches and warlocks had to make it work with poppets made of twigs and rags. Insane stuff.

But Diane was not an average student. Again she pondered the cast on her desk – a black and rubbery likeness of her left hand. Again she gave it a light stab with her pen. The prickling sensation on her actual skin was clear and exact. This was a final exam-grade work, and only mid-way through the trimester. She folded her hands and leaned back in her chair.

The second-floor laboratory was several times larger than an ordinary classroom, but somewhat dingy – as was the entire building. The Department of Chemistry and Alchemy was separated from the main complex of the Vallnord Academy by a broad lawn, still apparently distrusted, despite only suffering three major fires in the previous twenty years. The day was overcast, and even though the gas lamps were on, the lab was dim. Diane’s eyes wandered.

The shelves and counters by the walls were packed with vials, beakers, flasks, and test-tube racks. A massive, wide apothecary’s cabinet walled off a storage area in the back of the room. A cast-iron industrial stove was audibly working right in the middle. Bare pipes ran through the ceiling towards the front of the lab, where the Archduke’s portrait stared stern from above the door. The other students, seated in fours around the square tables, were all at work – sticking their hands into the moulding forms or pouring the foaming mineral resin into them. Two tables over, bent down so that his brown hair hung over his eyes, sat Niko.

Like all public institutions in the country, the Vallnord Academy was expected to be a bastion of decorum and high moral standards. Having secret lovers here was exciting to be sure, but it was so difficult to actually get some quality time alone. You had to watch them furtively, picture their naked bodies underneath those black velvet uniforms, and suffer them to go unfucked for days, weeks even. Niko straightened up; his pretty lips pouted. Diane realized that she’d been staring, and that her own lips were slightly parted, and that she was licking her teeth. She quickly glanced around, and lowered her gaze to the table. She absent-mindedly ran her fingers through her cast, the touch relayed exactly to her hand. Once cooled, the resin was smooth, actually skin-like in touch.

And this, exactly then, was when she got the idea.

All the students were focused on their casts. The professor and her assistant were both near the front of the lab, giving advice and discussing the results. Diane hesitated for just a few seconds.

A standard moulding kit is a hinged wooden box with a missing top wall. She took a tin scoop and filled hers with the grey powder. She got up and walked to a sink by the window. She poured in water, and stirred until all the lumps disappeared and that thick, clayish sludge resulted. Nobody paid her any attention.

She did not go back to her table. She headed to the back of the room, where that great cabinet took up all its width except for a passage left off on one side. Behind it, additional perpendicular shelves created a small labyrinth of nooks, a genuine library for alchemical supplies. This late into the class there was nobody there.

She leaned against the cabinet’s side and looked at Niko’s back. He was fiddling with his cast. By his hand lay a pen. Quite a small object quite far away, but nothing that a survivor of Professor Ter Dekke’s famous telekinesis course couldn’t handle. She took a deep breath and sought it out with her mind. Steely nib, wooden holder, ink residue. She squinted. A little awkwardly, it lifted itself from the table, and poked Niko in the wrist.

He looked around, turned, and saw her. She gave him a quick little nod and disappeared into the backroom.

He made sure that nobody saw this and waited a full minute before he followed. The cabinet walled this place off from the windows, and so it was even dimmer here; a distant shadow of the sun aided by two gas lamps’ worth of mellow light. Her blond hair was a rare bright spot in all this.

She was standing all the way back in the furthest corner, arms crossed. She smiled as he approached, one of her slight, mysterious smiles, and seized him up with those blue eyes. His heart rate picked up.

“How are your casts?” she asked. “Do they conduct well?”

“They’re kinda good actually, yeah.” He gave his words a nonchalant tone. She was obviously very talented, and comparing your results with hers was always a good way to make you really insecure about your magic. But his casts _were_ kinda good. It was so nice to have no reason to be cowed by her. Yep, two very competent students casually discussing magic here.

“Good.” She lifted up the moulding kit. “Will you make me a cast of your cock?”

Just… two competent students discussing magic.

“What.”

“I miss your touch, Niko. If I can’t have you whenever we want, I could at least have fun with your… likeness. And if you could feel me play with it, I think it would cheer you up as well.”

The idea was definitely intriguing. Of course, casts imbued with sympathetic magic didn’t last long – the mental link would deteriorate after a day or so, and then the resin itself would crumble from the thaumaturgic stress – but it could serve for one fun evening. Still, there was one little problem with the plan.

“Right here? Now?”

“Where else would you get the equipment? Besides,” she dragged him by the elbow behind the furthest shelf, “in the unlikely event someone does come here, you will have time to pull up your pants.” She shoved the moulding kit into his hands – which meant that he couldn’t prevent her from seizing his belt buckle.

He scowled, and she waited. This wasn’t the first time that she proposed something risky like that. In fact, the only reason that they hadn’t been expelled yet is that the school’s golems apparently weren’t programmed to act when discovering very naked students in very public places very late at night. It occurred to Niko that this risk of being caught was for Diane a big part of the thrill. It also occurred to him that he didn’t disagree.

Lips parted, he nodded. She unbuckled him, unbuttoned him, and uncovered him.

His cock was fully on board – semi-erect already, poking from under his white shirt. She gave it a few encouraging strokes. He looked at her, the awareness of being exposed in a classroom full of people tingling in the scruff of his neck. She went down to her knees and took him in her mouth.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered. She met his eyes and smiled. She tickled his glans with her tongue. He grunted, his back bucking a little. He looked up. From the top shelf, a particularly stern plaster bust of a distinguished professor was looking right at him. He grinned at it. He got very hard, very fast.

Diane let herself just enjoy his arousal for a few moments, feel his heat and his firmness in her mouth. At this school, only she knew this side of him. Beyond the walnut barrier of the cabinet, the quiet din of thirty students and two faculty members at work blended in with the hum of the stove.

“Okay,” she whispered, letting him go. “Now, push in!”

She shifted to stand up, but stopped and watched mesmerised as his glans sank into the grey mass. As more and more of his length went in, the sludge bulged out around him. It was extremely satisfying, watching his cock slide into things.

“All of it.” She gently pushed the box onto him, until he was balls deep in the mould. “How does it feel?”

He frowned. It felt a little bit like fucking a mud puddle.

“It’s kind of cold,” he said.

Mm. Her work was not yet done. It’s easy to get a boy hard. The trick was to keep him hard.

She stood up, unbuttoned her shirt, and pulled down her bra. It was so fun to see his wary eyes light up.

“Play with them,” she whispered. “That ought to warm you up.”

He was still listening, keenly, to the sounds from beyond the cabinet, for a slightest hint of steps going their way. But as he placed his hand on her skin – well, his sense of touch now had his full attention.

Askew, sidestepping the box, she hugged him and kissed him. He sucked on her lip, and felt her play with his hair. The cold was suddenly not a concern.

“That’s right, Niko. Be brave.” She moved on to kiss his jaw. “Just two more minutes or so…” She kissed his neck. She felt the blood rush through his arteries – clearly, if there was any risk right now, it was that of the box bursting open from the pressure. She cradled his head in her hands, and nibbled at his earlobe.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes. He soaked in her warmth, her softness, the scent of her hair. Slowly but surely, the mould was setting around him.

* * *

Marcell and Anton were pretending to test their casts as specified in the textbook’s guidelines, but their whispered conversation went entirely elsewhere.

“The Proctor Superior knows something’s up. Maybe that damned raven snitched,” Marcell said. Anton, as always, took this with a carefree shrug.

“Let’s not have the meeting in the open, then. Let’s have it in my room.”

“And would your roommate be okay with that?”

“What, Niko?” Anton shoved his wavy hair behind his ear. “Of course he would. Niko’s cool.”

“But every new person that knows is an additional risk—”

“Oh, relax. Besides, know what, Niko’s usually out hoverboating until late. So there’s probably no need to even tell him—”

Anton paused. Niko returned to the table with a new mould and a pitcher of fresh resin. Anton finished the sentence at a whisper. “My room at nine. No worries.”

A standard bit of grandma wisdom is that magic always comes out best when done on the spur of a moment, a bit recklessly and disregarding the consequences. Like most grandma wisdom, it’s probably mostly true.

As soon as Niko started the work, tilting the mould’s suspicious looking hole away from everyone’s eyes, he already knew he’d do really well. His mind found the hot black liquid and nested itself within it seamlessly. It would take some time for the connection to awaken, but even as he poured, he thought he could already feel a faint heat in his cock. Though to be perfectly honest, that was almost certainly just the lingering effect of Diane.

* * *

The sky was still heavy and overcast when the students crowded out of the Department of Chemistry and Alchemy. Niko and Diane fell in with their usual groups. The Academy suffered for coeducation to take place, but the frivolity of unmarried young men and women communicating beyond what was strictly needed for schoolwork was obviously frowned upon.

Halfway to the main complex, where the gravel pathway entered among the sprawling old park junipers, they both skilfully tarried, sat down on separate benches to rummage through their bags and tie shoelaces, and as soon as there was nobody nearby – ducked together among the conifers.

He opened his bag and carefully placed on the grass the mould that he’d smuggled out. It looked like a large, grey brick. They exchanged glances.

“Alright.” She grabbed a rock and aimed. “Let’s see how it turned out…”

He very firmly seized her wrist and dispossessed her of the rock. “I’ll do it,” he declared. Very carefully, he picked a spot where the cast shouldn’t run underneath, cringed a little, and struck.

The mould went to pieces like porcelain, and at the same time he felt a jolt, a blunt dry shock in his pants.

“O… kay, it works,” he gasped. She immediately reached for the wreckage, and he felt her hands as she seized the cast and lifted it up.

The black matte resin was still warm. It was an almost perfect likeness.

Her smile broadened. She ran her finger along the shaft, the sleek gentle curve that she liked so much. She took her eyes off the thing and onto him.

“You’re a very handsome boy, Niko.”

He blushed, stammered out some response, and took the cast himself. There could be no doubt, the attempt went really well. He could feel everything – although the cast having been made when he was erect, now that he was soft the sensation was strangely scaled and offset.

“Alright.” She opened her bag. “Put it in here, and…”

“What, here?!” He pointed to the unfriendly, angular books inside. “Among all this hard stuff? I swear, Diane, if you give it a paper cut…”

Unruffled, she took off her light scarf and wrapped the cast snug in.

“Is this okay?”

It felt like an additional pair of pants. When she hid it in her bag, he only felt a vague, muffled sensation. He cheered up.

“So, when are we doing this?” It was unusual to see his face wearing such an eager grin.

Both would have preferred to do the deed in the comfort of their own rooms, and luck was with them – Diane’s roommate, Yolanda, had an astronomy workshop that day at nine-thirty, while Niko’s roommate, Anton, was involved in some club that held long evening meetings around the same time; they agreed to be in their rooms at that hour, and make the best of this opportunity.

Nobody would have suspected them of anything unseemly when, moments later, they walked down the gravel path, slightly apart and looking indifferent to each other. Far to the left and to the right, the sprawling main complex of the Academy encircled them with its wings: the squat medieval college with its hewn stone, and the comfortable modern addition with its arched windows, gables, balustrades, clock tower, and all the rest. The building housed the Academy’s administration and its four core, cherished departments (Theoretical Metaphysics, Natural Magic, Summoning, and Mathematics). Away to the sides, pretty much on the opposite sides of the whole thing, were the men’s and women’s dorms. By the equestrian statue in the middle of the park, Diane and Niko had to part.

“You won’t just satisfy yourself and leave me hanging, right?” he asked. She mildly raised her eyebrows.

“I’ll take care of you. Just sever the link when you come, I will know that I can stop.”

Those raised eyebrows, along with her slight smile, gave her face a slightly condescending expression. The cool air hued her pale skin pink, and her eyes were fiercely blue in contrast. He felt an overwhelming urge to just pin her to the statue’s base and kiss her like an absolute savage.

“Okay then. Feel you in the evening, Diane.”

“Feel you.” She turned around and yanked the strap of her bag. Indistinctly, he felt the books jolt inside.

* * *

Thus began a very long afternoon. Her notes from the Intro to Thaumaturgy were a little less neat than usual. His from Elemental Theory were just a bunch of impatient scribbles. Later, they were in the canteen at the same time – they both avoided looking at each other, as otherwise even Diane’s exceptional poker face would be in danger. All the time, while talking casually with her friends, she was keenly aware of the cast in the bag by her feet. All the time, he felt her soft scarf wrapped around him. Every moment of this was unintended foreplay.

The sky cleared and sun shone on Vallnord. He went to the Great Conservatory to work on his Scrying group assignment. She went to her room in the southern wing, with its two beds, two writing desks, and one large window overlooking the lawn. She talked to Yolanda for a while; and when Yolanda left to fetch a book from the library, she finally fished out the bundle from the bag. She couldn’t resist unwrapping it, to take a look before stowing it safely under her pillow.

The matte texture was skinlike, sleek and inviting. She felt his presence within; it was like that vague sensation that you’re not alone in a room, barely perceptible if you don’t know to look for it, unmistakable if you do. It was hefty, excitingly heavy on her hands, stiff, blunt, girthy.

“What a pretty thing you are,” she whispered, and kissed it.

“What are you smiling at?” Yohann asked from across the table.

“Nothing,” replied Niko, and leaned back in his chair. High above him, the giant brass armillary sphere of the Great Conservatory was ticking quietly under the glass ceiling. “I just remembered a joke.”

Tick by tick, time went on, and eventually managed to bring on the evening. She got a grip on herself and stayed more or less focused on her Rituals seminar, on the tiny aged professor demonstrating dancelike motions in the warm gas light of the lecture hall. As the sky darkened he stepped out of the changing room and stood on the bank of the river downslope from the Academy, together with his six crewmates. Hoverboating is draining, both mentally and physically – with your mind you try to levitate that heavy wooden boat as high in the water as possible, while all your muscles are strained from rowing hard – and if anyone of the crew falls out of sync, the entire ensemble will almost certainly keel over. At least it kept him well occupied for an hour.

The moment he returned, soaked and winded, to the changing room, she pushed on the florid handle of her bedroom door. She made perfectly normal small talk with Yolanda, who soon got up from her bed and began to hunt for the astronomy tables she needed for the class. Diane sat by her desk, adjusted the kerosene lamp, and opened her Thaumaturgy textbook.

Niko excused himself from the usual lengthy after-training briefing and hurried upslope towards the main gate. It was full night time now. Above him, the great glass bulk of the Great Conservatory was illuminated like an enormous lantern.

Yolanda got all her things ready, reheated her coffee with a quick thermal spell, and talked a little bit more. Niko walked through the main door into the vast Entrance Hall, and his steps quickened to a trot on the glossy stone tiles which reflected the light from the chandeliers.

Yolanda closed the door behind her. Diane sat perfectly still, watching the corner of a page, and listened to the steps receding in the hallway. It was only a minute or so later that she calmly closed the book, got up, and locked the door.

He thought about his bed, he thought about Diane – he felt the fabric of her pillow – and he couldn’t stop grinning. He jumped out of the back door, onto the inner lawn. He breathed in the crisp air, and the night, his physical tiredness, and his mounting arousal made him in that moment feel really great in his own body. Both moons were up, throwing twin shadows onto the grass.

Diane turned off all the lights. The same moonlight alone now illuminated the quiet room. She faced the window. At an angle, she could see the clock on the Entrance Hall’s spire – nine-thirty exactly. She reached for the buttons of her shirt.

He flung his bag over to his other shoulder. He looked at the same clock. He was running a little late, but the men’s dorm was now right in front of him.

She stood naked, silvery in the moonlight. She turned away from the window and walked over to her bed; she smiled mildly when she realised that she was flirtatiously rolling her hips. She dived onto the cool blue satin and reached under the pillow. He stopped right outside of his dorm’s main door, suddenly sensing himself exposed. She pointed the glans right at her face, and smiled at it.

“Good evening, Niko,” she whispered. She gave it a kiss, right on the tip.

A short gasp of laughter shook him. The cast was very good indeed, very detailed – she could clearly see the indent of his slit. She pushed it with the tip of her tongue.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, and grabbed the door frame.

The bed. Get to the bed and enjoy this. He barged inside and ran up the stairs. She giggled, and stroked the shaft.

“Do you like this?” she asked. She kept trying to talk to him – his presence was so clear in her mind; and besides, her portable Niko was just so inviting to play with. She placed it between her breasts, and squeezed them around it. “How about now? Can you guess where you are?”

He stopped on a landing and leaned heavily on a wall. His heartbeat was heavy, but still he felt hers on top of it, and the surrounding softness of her skin – shit, just get to the room! He braved the remaining stairs, and got into his corridor. He stumbled forward on the weathered wood, found the key in his pocket, grabbed the door handle – and froze, realizing that voices were coming from the inside.

She adjusted herself on the soft pillow. Her fingers circled her labia. She’d never used a real toy on herself before – where would you get one in this country? (Although it is true that when she was growing up, her parents’ cook did on several occasions note a mysterious disappearance of a cucumber. Beggars can’t be choosers). She was really getting nicely wet, excited for what was to come. She knelt up, and again looked at the cast, hungrily.

He opened the door and saw Anton, Marcell, and one older student with large round glasses and a very serious air whom he didn’t know, seated on the beds, pages of notes scattered on the floor between them. They abruptly stopped talking and stared at him.

“What…” he started. Diane put the glans in her mouth. He did not finish.

“Niko, roomie! Didn’t expect you back so soon!” Anton immediately recovered his normal cheeriness. Marcell smiled thinly and nodded. The older student adjusted his glasses. Diane licked the cast’s underside. Niko’s toes curled.

“Weren’t you sup… supposed to have a club meeting?”

“Oh, we _are_ having a club meeting!” Anton’s upbeat tone was undisturbed. “We’re just having it here, see!”

It may have been just a bloc of resin, but it turned Diane on almost like the real thing. She sucked on it, just as she had in the back of the alchemy lab. Her stretched lips tried to smile. She imagined how hard he must be getting.

Niko’s foot arched. Anton got up and genially spread his hands.

“Alright Niko, ‘tis time to admit it. The Vallnord Pigeon Racing Fanclub is just a front. What we’re really interested in doing together, is politics! And we’re drafting a manifesto!”

“A manifesto,” Niko stammered out, at a high pitch. His shaft, restrained achingly by his clothes, was slowly sinking into Diane’s mouth.

“A manifesto! Aren’t you annoyed by how this country, and this school, are run, Niko? Like a military! Why are our beliefs and activities so closely monitored? Why are we cowering before the Proctor Superior like schoolboys before a headmaster? We’re adults, not children! We’re citizens, not subjects! It’s time for some reforms to take place around here!” Encouraged by Anton’s speech, Marcell took over, shiny-eyed.

“We’re hammering out our demands, and we’ll anonymously print them out and scatter around the Academy… we’ll get more people on our side!” There was genuine inspiration in his voice. There was genuine inspiration in Diane’s eyes as she pinched her nipple and pushed her personal Niko right up to her throat.

“I was hoping you’d see reason in our position,” Anton said.

“Yes!” Niko snapped, lunged past him, and tossed his bag on his bed, “I totally agree.” He grabbed his towel, which was hanging carelessly from a bed post. “I wish you well! Thanks for sharing! I need a shower, now!”

“Al…right! We can count on you not telling anybody, right?” Niko moved stiffly towards the door.

“Yeah. I think it’s great. Will tell no one. So tired. See you later!” He nodded at them, smiled sharply, and shut the door behind him. There was a brief moment of silence.

“See!” Anton turned to his two clubmates with a reassuring smile. “Told you he’s cool!”

“I don’t know about this.” The older student adjusted both his glasses and his parted hair. “He seemed to be extremely uncomfortable with this situation.”

“Nonsense! Niko’s alright.” Anton’s smile widened. “He’s just a bit high-strung. You know, not all people are adventurous. If he’s too nervous to be involved in anything illicit, we shouldn’t judge him!”

He hobbled through the corridor at top hobbling speed, past the rows of doors, eyes on the inky window at its end. There, the last door to the right, was the bathroom.

Diane took him out of her mouth. She spread her legs wide. She felt her swelling, her expectant wetness. With a smile she put the cast’s head right at her labia. Its rounded, blunt tip pressed against her flesh. She closed her eyes, and remembered Niko’s. She smiled wider, and bit her lip.

She shoved him in.

He slammed into the wall right by the bathroom door.

“Fuck!” he whined under his breath, and hid his face inside his elbow. His cock raged against his clothes as it felt all around it – tight, warm, wet, slippery – her, her body, her depth. He bit down on his fist, picked up his towel that he’d dropped, and flung open the door.

She purred happily, and slowly rubbed around her clit. It was so satisfying, the inside pressure of his girth. On their own, her legs parted further, her hips bucked up, and her vulva presented itself for his access. She imagined his body, its enticing frame, gentle muscles, mousy hair here and there. She recalled the scent of his fresh sweat. She remembered his smile, shy at first, more and more enthusiastic as he went along. She reached for her breasts and played with them, exactly the way he would. With her mind she grasped the cast, and it rocked back and forth under her telekinetic guidance.

“Niko…” she whispered. The room was dark and quiet. Stretched and bucked forward, she glistened in the moonlight.

The bathroom was bright and noisy. All surfaces were covered with white enamelled tiles. Of the six shower stalls, one was occupied – Niko could see the feet, the upper back, and the head of some student he didn’t know. The stalls’ flimsy whitewashed doors provided only a semblance of privacy. Whatever, this would do. By the time he’d reached the last stall by the wall, he was already unbuttoned and unbuckled. He kicked off his shoes, flung his clothes all together onto a hook, glanced at a wood-framed mirrors above the sinks opposite – the other guy was not caught in any of them – and pulled down his underwear. He gasped with relief as his cock shot up, and finally free pulsed furiously in the air. He skulked into the stall, closed the unconvincing door behind him, leaned against the wall, and let delight flow through him.

She hummed low and tossed in the sheets. Her fingers circled faster, but she slowed down the cast’s strokes – once she’d made him come he’d sever the mental link, and she really wanted him to still be with her for her orgasm. She thought of him as only she knew him – naked, erect, intense. Sometimes he could be soft and yielding – sometimes, forceful and decisive. She really liked both, depending on the mood. Right in this moment, her memory enthusiastically wrapped itself around that second Niko, that demon Niko lurking behind that meek smile and lowered eyes, that rough Niko, grab you by the hair Niko, pin you down and fuck you against a table Niko, that overpower you and be embarrassed about it later Niko. Her breath broke into quiet moans.

His hips, invited to dance, swayed in the air. His neck arched back, and his hair tickled his shoulders. He grinned. A quarter mile away, a dream girl was pleasuring herself to a mere thought and cast of him – and he’d been welcomed to share the experience. He thought of her, of how her calm poise easily shifted to a reckless passion, of the strength of sexuality that lurked within that serious, no-nonsense girl, and of how he was let in on the secret.

The splashing of water ceased in the other stall. Niko realised that he was humping the air under a switched-off shower. He quickly turned the valve-like tap. The copper pipes rattled, and the rickety head splurged warm water which splashed at his feet and calves.

She ran her hand along her labia, smudging the wetness around. She ground fiercely against her hand’s base. In her mind, Niko held her tight, and breathed into her neck. In her mind also, Niko writhed in his bed right now, holding his moans, feeling every detail of this. “I’m gonna come,” she told them both.

The other guy finished towelling himself and was dressing up somewhere behind. Niko bent down under the cover of the door. The splashing water drowned out his heavy breathing. His cock pointed up, taut like an iron spring. He felt her contract around him.

“Niko,” she hissed. “Niko, Niko, Niko, Niko...” She spread herself to near splits, and tightened whole. He felt an intense, pulsing gripping. The force almost jettisoned the cast out of her; she stopped it with her fingers and shoved it all the way in, and forced herself to cum against its girth – and imploded all around it, pleasure obliterating all thought.

He stood still against the white tiled wall, and chuckled, voiceless.

She sighed and opened her eyes. Spread on the bedsheets, plugged by her toy, dripping wet and drained, she tingled with satisfaction, core to fingertips.

“That was good,” she announced to the ceiling. Her body unmoving, her mind grabbed the cast, slid it out, and let it levitate above her, glistening silver in the dark. Over the hot steam, he felt the coolness of her bedroom air. She brought it closer to her eyes and smiled at it. She put one finger on its glans, petted it lightly, and then traced on it a little heart shape.

This time he couldn’t keep the voice out of his chuckle. He cleared his throat and pretended to cough.

“Your turn,” she whispered. The cast did a graceful little somersault on its way back between her legs.

The other guy finally left; Niko heard the door shut behind him just as he felt himself plunge back into Diane. He hummed, and sank onto his knees. He ran his hands along his chest and sides, imagined her caressing him.

At first she thrust him in and out, but quickly realized that they were unimpeded by normal anatomy here; she focused and added a spin to the motion, moving him along like a corkscrew, twist in, twist out. He bent down and moaned, caught in her whirl.

She looked intently down, at the dark shape moving in and out of her. It was so hot, giving him pleasure, controlling it from afar. His body writhed, dancelike, on its knees. He was close.

“Niko, you know what would be fun?” She focused all her mind on the cast. There was a trick that he’d taught her himself. If you take something and sort of make it move against itself…

Gently but at great speed, the cast started vibrating.

If he hadn’t knelt, he’d have fallen. He yelped, and his muscles tossed him at the wall. His nerves, deeply shaken, went into a complete overdrive. Blinding ecstasy ripped at him, tore voice out of his lungs, very loud, swear words, her name, incoherent cries. Every part of his body jolted away from him; orgasm in his nerves, orgasm in his muscles, orgasm in his bones; in his hips, in his spine, in his stomach, in his chest, in his throat. He came, rapidly and uncontrollably, all over himself, all over the wall. And still his cock trilled right from its core, all his nerves blazing – and it was too much, he genuinely thought it would fry his brain – and he sought out the sympathetic link in his mind, and severed it, and leaned limp against the wall, shaking.

She suddenly felt alone. She let the cast go and smiled.

“Told you you’d like it,” she said.

He tried to catch his breath. Oh, shit. He’d been really, really loud. He quickly turned off the water and listened. No steps, no voices in the corridor. But these pipes conducted sound really well. Perhaps in the boiling room someone was now looking up, mortified. But perhaps not.

Still wheezing, he sat on the wet floor. His chest was streaked with semen right up to his collarbone. More of the stuff was sliding down the wall, white on white. He buried his face in his hands and chortled.

“Diane, what the fuck,” he whispered.

The cast sailed lazily above her head, glossy from her wetness. It was a pity that this pretty thing would crumble to pieces tomorrow; but then again, it would be way too dangerous to actually keep it. Maybe after Yolanda falls asleep, she’ll have some more fun with it. Though Niko’s feeling was gone from the thing, it was still his enticing likeness – and she still had a good imagination.

First lights were going out in the dorms. In two different places, one girl and one boy were resting in an afterglow, thinking fondly of each other. Elsewhere, three students were parting with conspirative whispers, a project of an incisive manifesto hidden in the sleeve of an overcoat; elsewhere yet, a small group of exhausted hoverboaters were creeping upslope towards the Entrance Hall; in the library, five different people ran five hands across five faces, determined to finish their five different essays on five different subjects or die trying; in the basement of the medieval wing, a fire demon was merrily downing a bottle of pure methanol; in his office, the Chancellor was ending the day with an entirely passable cigar.

It was, in short, a fairly normal evening at Vallnord.


End file.
